


Sick of All the Insincere

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pay attention, London screams. See. Look. Observe.</p>
<p>"Try again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick of All the Insincere

The thrum of the city, pounding, zooming, screaming. Cars, squealing past. The chatter of a mob of two as they storm past the flat.

The window is closed.

Pay attention, London screams. See. Look. Observe.

_"Try again."_

And again. And again. Once more with a smile for the guests of the house.

Pressing. His back against the couch. His fingers tucked under his chin, prayer-like. His eyelids against his eyes. His world, pressing on his shoulders.

"Sherlock," his world says.

He doesn't understand the universe. The neverending, infinite mass that was the galaxy. Its limitless capacity for stars. For planets. For meteorities. For dust. It expects him to understand. It expects him to pay attention.

Can't the others hear it? Pounding. Zooming. Screaming.

"Sherlock," his world tries again.

_(And again. And again.)_

The earth goes around the sun. But doesn't the sun rise and set on the horizon? How can the earth go around the sun? How is heliocentric politically correct? They all say the sun stays still, but doesn't the earth follow the sun? If the earth followed the sun because it stayed still, would it still follow when the sun decided to race after the planets, the meteorites, the dust? Would the earth still follow?

Of course. Of course it would.

"Are you even paying attention to me at all?" his world asks.

Sherlock's father never knew the universe too, but what made Sherlock better was that he tried to. Sherlock's father looked, observed, but never saw. Never saw the glimmer of stars, winking with coy, clever, victorious, sad smiles.

"Can you hear me? Sherlock!" his world shouts.

His eyes open. Seeing. Looking. Observing. Blinking. Crying.

"Sherlock?" his world asks.

"John," Sherlock croaks in return. He reaches up, like a child reaching for a parent (one that wasn't forced away, another that never looked at him until it was for all the wrong reasons).

John lets Sherlock pull him down, wrapped in an embrace.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John murmurs, holding the younger man through the sobs that suddenly wrack his body. He wants to say that he doesn't know why he's crying, but he's not that good of a liar. John simply makes a hushing sound, not to silence him, but to assure him.

"He tried to kill me," Sherlock whispers shakily.

"Who? Moriarty?"

Sherlock shakes his head minutely, clinging to John.

Stars don't need planets, but it gets awfully lonely without them.

"It's fine... he won't hurt you," John says, with an uncertain edge to his voice. He doesn't understand, but he doesn't need to. He's confused. It's alright. Most planets are.

The universe is too loud. For stars, even for planets. It would kill him. It would kill him, because that was the natural order of life. Life, then death. Stars died. Meteorites crumbled. Dust became nothing.

Even planets withered. Sherlock just hopes his world will outlive him.

"Don't die," he tells John.

"I'll try not to," his world says, and kisses his brow.


End file.
